


The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

by UAgirl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You got somethin' to say, you spit it out. No more goin' behind my back, writin' letters to women I ain't ever laid eyes on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognized characters from the Walking Dead. I'm just borrowing them for the purposes of this story. Any names you might not recognize, however, are my own creation. No infringement is intended, and I'm definitely not making any money off of the fruits of my nagging imagination. Which is entirely too bad because it doesn't sound like a bad way to make a living. ;)

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart 

 

xxxxx

 

The nest was small and round and tucked away in the back corner of one of the livestock stalls.

If Lizzie squinted her eyes just right against the slash of sunlight spilling in through the weathered slats of the barn, she could barely make out a few wispy white feathers woven into the twigs and straw that housed the little pink cluster of newborn baby mice. They were tiny, smaller than the silver coin Mr. Monroe had snuck into her pocket last Christmas, and Lizzie was half convinced she could fit every last one of them in the palm of her dirty hand. She was seconds away from finding out when her uncle's raspy growl startled her and she whirled around guiltily, her fingers fiddling with the brass buckle of the belt that cinched her pants high around her skinny waist.

"What you into out here, girl? You lookin' guilty as hell. Lemme see."

Her uncle cut a frightening picture in the shadows with his broad shoulders, his strong jaw, and intense blue eyes, but Lizzie wasn't intimidated. Still, she was cautious, and tight lipped, and she read suspicion all over the toothy smile he gifted her with when she hesitated to answer him.

"Your ol' uncle has his ways of findin' things out." He peered down at her with narrowed eyes before casting his attention elsewhere and rubbing his hand over his short crop of curls. "Don't be thinkin' you off the hook now, because I got my eye on you. Y'hear?"

"Yes, Sir," Lizzie dutifully responded. She felt an answering smile tug at the corners of her mouth when his lips gentled into fondness, and a twinkle appeared in his eyes as he plucked a piece of straw from the wild waves of her hair.

"That's Uncle Merle to you, Lizzie Dixon. Now go make friends with a bar of soap, and make sure your brother and sister do the same. Daylight's wastin'." He wrapped Otis's bridle around his hand and gave the reluctant animal a tug toward the open doors of the barn where Lilly was already patiently waiting, harnessed and hitched to the wagon. "You know your papa was aimin' to make it to the Greene farm by nightfall."

"I don't understand why we can't go into town too," Lizzie demurred.

"You know why, now away with you." Otis groaned underneath the heavy weight of the harness and rolled his eyes back at Merle, his nostrils flaring in agitation; Merle grunted right back at the animal. "What you been feedin' him? Bricks?"

Lizzie just smirked slyly and patted Otis's velvety nose. "I'm only telling if you let me come with you and Papa."

Merle sucked on his teeth, a flash of admiration in his shrewd gaze. It took some serious gumption to attempt to manipulate the master, but he was wise to the ways of women, miniature Dixon women in particular. "Ain't the way this works, girl, but nice try. 'Member what I said. Make sure Sam washes behind his ears. Don't want no sunflowers sproutin' back there."

Lizzie heaved a long-suffering sigh in response and hugged her arms tight across her chest before marching toward the house and letting the door bang closed behind her.

"You say somethin' to rile her up?"

Merle glanced at his brother's dusty boots and rose from his squatting position to look him square in the eye. "Don't take much. You know that." He took in the clean but worn pants, the ill-fitting shirt stretched tight over his upper arms, and the stubborn scruff still covering his brother's tired face and had a brief moment of misgiving. "It's not too late."

Daryl cut him off with a determined shake of his head. "Too late the moment you involved my kids. I ain't gonna be the one to tell them they ain't gettin' a new mama. You?"

Merle opened his mouth and promptly closed it, clearly struggling with the effort not to speak his piece.

"You got somethin' to say, you spit it out. No more goin' behind my back, writin' letters to women I ain't ever laid eyes on," Daryl growled, plowing a hand through his spit slicked hair and pacing in a short circle. "Hell, Merle. We was makin' it just fine."

Merle cocked his head to the side in disbelief. "Was we?"

"We was," Daryl stubbornly insisted, running his hand through his hair again and upending it every which way. Merle's expression further deepened the scowl that twisted his lips. "You seen my hat?"

The family dog chose that precise moment to make his presence known, Daryl's hat hanging loosely from his droopy jowls as he loped past them en route to the barn and the promise of shelter from the rapidly heating day.

"Yeah. I seen your hat," Merle grimaced. "Yellow-bellied mutt," he muttered underneath his breath.

Daryl turned flinty blue eyes on him. "The hell you say?"

"Easy Darylina," Merle barked out a laugh. "Was talkin' 'bout the damned dog. Would you look at you? Ain't like you marryin' the Virgin Mary. And even if you was, this ain't your first rodeo."

"S'different," Daryl gruffed out. "Just me before. Weren't Lizzie. Or Sam. Or Mika."

"It's me you talkin' to, Little Brother," Merle whistled faintly through his teeth. "Ain't no secret of yours ol' Merle don't already know."

Daryl squinted into the sun. "That so?"

"You sayin' it ain't?"

Daryl snorted and slapped his palm against Otis's ample rump, barely meriting a reaction from the lazing animal. "Daylight's wastin'." Turning around, he cupped his hands in front of mouth and ignored his brother's knowing grin. "Girls! Sam! C'mon! Ain't got all day!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx2xx

 

The Greene farm was less than half a day's journey by wagon.

To Daryl, the miles seemed both endless and ever-shortening. Step by plodding step, Otis and Lilly were shepherding him that much closer to his own uncertain future, a future largely arranged for him by his meddling brother, and Daryl was equal parts daunted and determined.

Conquerin' the Appalachians had been easier. Crossin' the mighty Mississippi had filled him with less dread.

And yet…a small part of Daryl conceded Merle was right (Sam and the girls needed motherin'); didn't mean he had to admit it. He weren't gonna either, least not anytime soon. Instead, he stayed quiet, let his eyes travel the seas of undulating green, let the warm sun wash over his face, and let Mika and Sam do all the talking.

"You think she'll like Griselda?"

"Do you think she knows how to make pie, like Miss Patricia? Her pie is the best! Oh! Do you think Miss Patricia made me a pie?"

Merle chortled and knuckled his nephew's sandy hair. "She does know how much you love pie."

"She probably doesn't even know how to make pies," Lizzie intoned flatly from behind them on her pallet of quilts and straw. "Or sew. Or do any of the things that mamas do."

Daryl's eyes connected briefly with his brother's over the top of the twins' heads.

"She does!" Mika spoke up in indignant defense of a woman none of them really knew. "She said so in her letters. Right, Uncle Merle?"

"She did," Merle confirmed. "Proof's in these here letters." He patted his pocket before pulling out a small bundle of worn, ink stained paper, the totality of 'Daryl's' correspondence with one Mrs. Carol Peletier, widowed in recent years and the answer, Merle hoped, to all of Daryl's unasked prayers. The boy was a ghost amongst the living, and Merle was looking to change that, had been for a while. The paper with the advert had literally fallen into his lap at a time when Daryl (and Merle himself) had needed it the most. Hell. It was almost enough to convince Merle to take up religion, almost. "Says so right 'ere."

"Read 'em again, Uncle Merle."

Mika's request was sweet and sleepy, and Daryl felt her lean more solidly against his side, the golden strands of her hair escaping the braid messily arranged over one tiny shoulder and catching in the breeze, lightly tickling at his face.

"Please," Sam begged.

More a sucker for his own kin than he was willin' to admit, Merle cleared his throat and did just that. "My name is Carol Anne Peletier. My friends call me Carol. My family are all gone…"

"Not anymore," Sam interrupted, his small hand fisting in his uncle's breeches and holding on as the wagon bumped along. "Right, Papa?"

Daryl mustered a small, flickering smile in the face of his son's youthful, hopeful face and bright eyes, and bent to press an awkward kiss to the top of Mika's head. "Nope. Not anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx3xx

 

Patricia had, indeed, baked a pie, and Hershel's kitchen smelled of apple and spice when she ushered Sam and Lizzie inside, tutting over them and pinching their cheeks rosy as she steered them to the kitchen table where a couple of covered plates awaited them. "Eat up, you two. T'is a big day tomorrow." Her blue eyes found Daryl's and her touch was faint but sure against his elbow as she nodded at Mika, dozing heavily against his shoulder, her short legs dangling from his cradling forearm. "I'll put hers up with yours and Merle's." She must have read something in his gaze because her expression softened and her touch lingered for only a few seconds more. "It's a very big day for all of you."

Daryl ducked his head and pressed his cheek against Mika's hair, resisting the urge to flinch, wholly uncomfortable with the small show of easy affection. "Thanks."

Patricia's cheek dimpled. "Take her upstairs to Beth's room. Second door on the right. I'll make sure Sam doesn't sneak an early piece of pie."

"Aww, but Miss Patricia," Sam whined.

The steps were steep and creaked underneath their combined weight as Daryl climbed them carefully. Once at the landing, he turned and followed the muted yellow glow of a lantern to a modest room boasting a bed of hand carved oak. Atop it rested a quilt remarkably similar to the one that still adorned his marriage bed, and the sight made his throat tighten with doubt. Closing his eyes tightly, he murmured into Mika's silk hair. "The hell I'm doing, Baby Girl?" A quiet, girlish clearing of the throat had him opening his eyes again and reflexively tightening his arms around his daughter before sighing in relief. "Beth."

The youngest Greene daughter's eyes were luminous and round in the shadows, and her sharp little chin worked for several awkward seconds before apologies erupted from her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Here. Let me help you."

"S'okay." 

"I can…"

"Beth." Daryl's attempt at a reassuring smile surely left much to be desired, but the girl barely seemed to notice. A slight nod was the only acknowledgment he gave when she excused herself and left the room, his focus solely wrapped up in his daughter and his fading memories of yesteryear. Five winters had passed since she came screaming into his world with her brother. Five winters she'd grown without knowing a mama's loving touch. Was he doing the right thing? Bringing a stranger into her life, into all of theirs? Daryl just didn't know.

Night stars lit up the midnight sky by the time the children were tucked snug in their beds, Lizzie and Mika sharing with Beth, Sam snoring side by side with Hershel.

Daryl could hear Otis nickering softly to Lilly in the barn as he climbed into the back of the wagon and settled beside Merle in a bed of straw. The moon offered just enough silver light to illuminate his brother's face, and he looked softer somehow, younger, more open. Before Daryl could say anything, Merle's gruff voice rumbled from deep within his chest.

"You doin' the right thing, Brother. You doin' right by those young'uns."

"Weren't even…"

"Was too." Merle grinned deeply, his eyes still closed. "We's blood. I know you."

"You keep tellin' yourself that," Daryl grumbled, but there was no bite in his tone, only helpless recognition and resignation. Silence stretched between them, the barn fowl and company settling deeper into the night, lulling and quietening until nary a sound passed between them but for the occasional chirping of the crickets and the even sounds of their breathing. "Wanted to say…wanted to tell you…"

Merle's gaze was clear and steadfast beneath the shimmer of the moon. "Yeah?"

Daryl tucked his chin to his chest, crossed his arms for added warmth beneath the heavy quilt resting low across their shoulders. "You doin' the right thing too."

One corner of Merle's mouth curled up and he matched Daryl's pose. "I know."

Daryl rolled his eyes.

"I also know for a fact that l'il songbird upstairs is sweet on you."

Daryl groaned and Merle's responding cackle was loud and unrestrained. Finally, he calmed, but Daryl couldn't resist one more attempt at having the last word. "You don't know me."

"Yeah. I do. Rest up, Baby Brother. Tomorrow's our wedding night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for the kudos! :)


	4. Chapter 4

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx4xx

 

The train depot was small, dark, and empty. A whitewashed sign above the main entranceway read TERMINUS, the letters bold and blocky, and the windows looked to be boarded and already closed up for the night even as the sun was still melting into the horizon. 

It looked abandoned, had the façade of a place long-forgotten, and as Carol stepped out onto the creaky wooden platform, she felt the persistent whispers of the uncertainty she'd felt since penning and mailing that first letter return with sudden, rude force. In that moment, the desire to turn around and step back onto the train was nearly overwhelming, but Carol lifted a hand to the locket at her throat, mustered up her flagging courage, and pushed against the unwanted emotion. Stiffening her spine and lifting her chin in defiance, she nevertheless clutched her bag tightly with white knuckled hands when she heard scuffling footsteps approach. A sigh of relief escaped her when she recognized the young porter, Randall, her trunk in his arms.

"That should be all, Mrs. Peletier," Randall straightened with a soft grunt. "You sure I can't help you with anything else?"

Carol gifted him with a handful of coins and a nervous smile. "You've been so much help already." Casting a glance back over her shoulder at the depot and the lengthening shadows, she spoke with more confidence than she felt. "I'll be fine. I'm sure the person I'm meeting will be here soon."

Randall nodded and attempted to reassure her with his soft, sleepy drawl. "They're just not very trusting people, Mrs. Peletier. It's not so bad a place. I think you'll really like it here."

"I hope so."

Randall smiled and tipped his hat at her. "You will."

Carol watched until the young man limped out of sight to help the few other departing passengers and let her smile fall tiredly away. "I really hope so." Plaintive mewing answered her quiet murmur, and she sighed. "I know. I know. Me too." She turned, her bag cradled to her chest, and her voice a soft, soothing hum as she made her way toward the wooden benches sheltered beneath the depot's eaves. She didn't make it far before a deep voice startled her.

"Mrs. Peletier? Carol Peletier?

Three dark figures stood in the spot Randall had so recently vacated. One, a tall, lanky youth, immediately lowered his large eyes upon meeting Carol's questioning gaze. Another, the broad shouldered owner of the voice, offered her a tentative, gap toothed smile before sparing a deferential glance at the cloaked figure standing between him and the boy.

"I'm Carol Peletier." Carol searched their unfamiliar faces for any clues to their identities but found no such reassurances; her letters had held only names and the vaguest of descriptions, no photographs or rough illustrations of faces. Swallowing thickly, she forced her voice to be steady and strong. "You are?"

Feminine ebony hands lifted to remove the cloak from the smallest figure's head and wise dark eyes stared back at Carol for several seconds that stretched and segued into minutes as the two women considered one another. Finally, a melodic voice cut through the stillness as the woman addressed first one man, then the other. "Noah. T. Take Mrs. Peletier's trunk."

"But I still don't know who you are," Carol softly protested as the two men hefted the trunk full of her worldly possessions like it weighed little to nothing. The woman grumbled something about Dixons beneath her breath and paused just long enough for Carol to catch up to her as she stalked the length of the platform to a wagon waiting nearby. "At least tell me your name."

The woman stalled completely in her tracks and sighed. "Michonne."

"You're Michonne?" Carol winced immediately. Obviously, she'd failed miserably at keeping the disbelief from her voice if the tiny, knowing smirk on Michonne's full lips were any indication. "I just didn't expect…"

"A woman of color?"

Heat crept past the high neckline of Carol's gown, staining her cheeks scarlet. "No," she defended herself softly. "I just didn't expect a woman at all."

Michonne nodded then, just a hint of teeth showing between her full lips. "I didn't expect you." 

Carol's mouth fell open, but apparently, she was too fatigued from her long travels to formulate a response. She could only follow after Michonne as she led the way.

"C'mon. We best make tracks. Mr. Gareth and Mr. Martin don't take too kindly to folks like us haunting these parts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and for the kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carol comes across a few more familiar faces as she waits to meet her husband to be.

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx5xx

 

Steam curled in thin ribbons from the small wooden bowl directly in front of her, and though her stomach clenched with longing, Carol hesitated to pick up her spoon. Instead, she furtively scanned her foreign surroundings and felt old insecurities bubble beneath the surface of her outward calm. Her lips tightened when a warm, honeyed voice lightly chastised her apparent lack of appetite.

Kind eyes locked on the clasped hands in Carol's lap, and delicate brows arched in unyielding challenge. "You eat up, Honey. There's more where that come from."

"She ain't gonna eat it, just means more for me."

"Theodore!"

Flour specked fingers swatted at the broad shoulders, earning another gap toothed grin from the man, and Carol ducked her head to hide her own smile.

"Shame to hide a pretty smile like that."

"Shame's something he don't have," the woman apologized once Theodore had moved on, making his way to another table in the loud, crowded boarding house dining room. "You need anything else, Honey, you just ask for Jacqui."

This time Carol didn't bother to hide her smile. "Thank you, Jacqui." Lifting her spoon to her mouth, she couldn't help the small, appreciative moan that escaped and her eyes briefly fluttered shut in bliss. The stew was better than anything she'd eaten in days, weeks, and Carol heaped praise on the cook.

Color stained the woman's high cheek bones, and her slender frame straightened with unmistakable pride as she wiped her hands on her apron. "Help yourself to some biscuits before they're all gone. You ain't eat enough to satisfy a bird."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Jacqui laughed, and perfect, pearly teeth gleamed at Carol in the low lantern light. "Don't Ma'am me, Honey. 'Member what I said. Just ask for Jacqui."

"Yes, Ma'…Jacqui," Carol corrected herself mid-sentence, feeling the heat of her embarrassment for her near mistake creep all the way to the roots of her hair long after the motherly woman had taken her leave. Keeping her head low, she tucked hungrily into her meal, her eyes rooted to her bowl. Before long, her spoon was scraping the bottom, and she had nothing else to distract herself from the familiar discomfort she felt at being in such close quarters. Her knuckles blanched slightly as her grip on the spoon tightened, and her eyes once again flitted across the room.

A group of dusty, sweaty, rumpled men, five or six strong, were bent low over their own bowls a couple of tables to her right, sloppily scooping stew into their mouths after a full day's work. To her left, a young couple ignored the food on the table before them to exchange sweet, shy smiles. Further across the room, Theodore was being entertained by the silly antics of a small, dark curled child, the strong wall of his back quivering with unrestrained laughter while the mother, father, and older sister looked on.

There were more men, more couples, more young families, but Carol's eyes zeroed in on the lean figure walking toward her with a slight limp. The boy's large eyes widened even further when her cold, clammy hand darted out to grab his own. "Excuse me. Noah, right?" Barely giving the boy time to nod his head, Carol cleared her dry throat and blurted, "Jacqui. Do you know where she went?"

"You need something, Mrs. Peletier?"

Feeling her pulse starting to pound at her throat, Carol squeezed the boy's large, callused hand and silently cursed the affliction that had manifested itself in the still young days of her marriage, after the courtship was over and the charisma her husband had so effortlessly oozed had melted away behind closed doors. "I just…can you take me to Jacqui, please?"

One look at Carol's pale cheeks and overly bright eyes when they entered the kitchen and Jacqui was rushing to assist the pair. "You look like you seen your own ghost, Honey."

Michonne rounded the table right behind her. "Noah, what happened?" She pulled out a chair, and it wobbled as Carol sank into it gratefully. "Did Martinez say something to upset her?"

Carol raised bewildered eyes to Michonne's grim face and stammered her way through an explanation. "I just…got a little too warm. The room's small, and all those people…I needed some air." Her gaze lowered to her lap, and she threaded her fingers together in a desperate effort to steady them. "Who's Martinez? Why would anything he has to say upset me?"

"Martinez is one of the regulars here," Jacqui murmured in answer, softly patting the curve of Carol's neck with the damp cloth in her hand.

"Man's not the biggest fan of the Dixons. No love lost between him and your soon to be brother-in-law," Michonne muttered dryly, turning her back on the two women and dismissing Noah.

A cool glass was fitted between Carol's shaking hands, and a woman with hair the color of sunshine knelt before her, her painted lips curved into a reassuring smile and her pale, sea foam eyes understanding as she gently nudged the glass toward Carol's lips.

"You're not helping things here, Michonne."

"Drink it slow, Honey," Jacqui encouraged with a hand upon Carol's shoulder. "Real slow."

Michonne rocked back on her heels and addressed the woman that had chided her candor. "She'll find out soon enough."

A violent cough racked through Carol's slim frame suddenly, and she grimaced at the bitter burn of the liquid as it sizzled down her throat, pushing the glass weakly away. "Find out what?"

Michonne snatched the glass from Carol's hands, lifting it to her nose. "You gave her whiskey? Andrea," she hissed.

Andrea winced and shrugged apologetically at Carol then Michonne. "It's the first thing I grabbed."

Apparently, her gesture of contrition wasn't enough for Michonne, and the pair continued to quarrel between themselves, even as Carol hoarsely repeated her question from earlier.

"Find out what?" Unsurprisingly, her question fell on deaf ears, and Carol's shoulders slumped with exhaustion when she again felt Jacqui's gentle touch.

"Ignore them, Honey. Why don't I take you up to your room?"

Carol smiled tiredly. "I'd like that, very much."

"You got a big day ahead of you tomorrow, and I don't want you to worry your pretty little head for nothin'. Dixon's good people. Don't let anybody tell your elsewise, you hear?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Nothing much happened in this chapter, but we're in the building stages here. ;) I hope you enjoyed it, even if it is *my* least favorite chapter so far. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carol has a much needed heart to heart with a new friend.

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx6xx

 

Up the stairs and down a long, narrow hallway, Carol faithfully trudged in Jacqui's wake, only bits and pieces of the one-sided conversation the other woman had steadily engaged in since they'd left the scene at the kitchen behind penetrating the fatigued fog she found herself in. She could barely contain the grateful sigh begging to escape when they finally reached their destination.

"Here we are," Jacqui announced with a smile. "Nothing fancy. Just four walls and a roof. A soft place to lay your head."

Stepping over the threshold, Carol had to agree. But the bed was large, taking up much of the room, and a low banked fire in the far corner gave it a cozy glow. It was more than she had been expecting, more than she deserved. "It's too much."

"Nonsense," Jacqui shrugged off her concern, crossing the room to turn down Carol's bed and fuss with her pillows. "It's just enough for the two of you."

"Two of us?" Carol winced at the uncertain squeak of her own voice, her fingers unconsciously worrying the loose button hanging by a frayed thread at the front of her dress. "I don't understand."

"You're lucky, Honey. It's just you and Ms. Andrea. Why, Theodore and Noah share their room with two other poor souls," Jacqui mused in a sympathy laden voice as she continued to flit around the room. "Those two are a regular snoring symphony all on their lonesome." She paused in front of the window to pull back the curtains, and moonlight cut a silver swath across the wooden floor, chasing away the dancing shadows that played across Carol's pale face. "Shame it's so late. You're missing the prettiest view we offer. This time o' year the cottonwoods fluff up all sweet. The boy calls it snow in the summertime. It's a sight. Ever seen snow, Honey?"

Carol joined her at the window. "It doesn't snow much in Georgia."

Jacqui grinned. "Suppose not." Her expression softened into a tiny tilt of her lips as she lifted a hand from the window sill to push a loose curl behind Carol's ear. "Listen to me, carrying on when you're dead on your feet."

Carol allowed herself to be steered toward the bed and wearily melted into its softness. She protested when the woman knelt to untie and remove her boots. Tears threatened at the small, unexpected kindness. "You don't have to."

Jacqui straightened, quietly shushing her. "I know I don't have to, but somebody needs to. Else you'll fall asleep with your eyes open, boots and all."

Carol laughed, somewhat hysterically, and the tears that had been welling spilled free, tracking miserably down her flushed cheeks. "You're being so nice to me. You don't even know me."

"Oh, Honey."

The bed dipped slightly under Jacqui's additional weight, and it was too easy to be gathered up in the other woman's warm embrace. Carol clenched the soiled edge of her apron in one fist and braced her other hand against the mattress.

"I know enough. I know the important things."

"How?" Carol sniffled. "You've barely known me a few hours."

"Few hours is all I need," Jacqui murmured into Carol's crown of disheveled curls. "You're brave. Not many women-folk I know would come clear across the wide open country like you did, all by themselves."

Carol shook her head. "You saw me. Down there. I'm hardly brave."

Jacqui continued, undeterred. "You're kind. Too many people 'round these parts…they ain't. It's real easy to tell the difference. But the most important thing I know I knew before I even met you. You know what that is?"

Carol relinquished her iron grip on Jacqui's apron to bury her fingers in the thick, soft coat of the affection-seeking feline suddenly worming its way into her lap and sighed softly. "No. I don't."

"Takes a giving heart willing to love another woman's babies as your own, a special heart. That tells me you good people, Honey. Don't you doubt it no more, y'hear?"

Carol accepted the kiss to her forehead with a watery smile. "Thank you."

"No thanks needed for telling the truth. Now you change out of that dress into something you can breathe in." A delighted smile pulled at Jacqui's mouth when her sly wink had the desired effect, and the liquid blue eyes staring at her so intently brightened. "I'll send Glenn up with Andrea to stoke that fire. The night air still has teeth for a while yet. Sleep tight, Honey. Don't forget to say your goodbyes tomorrow before you leave out."

Carol's promise was a fervent and sincere one. "I won't. Night, Jacqui."

Jacqui made good on her promise, and a young man of Asian descent entered the room behind the woman she'd earlier met as Andrea barely a half hour later, carrying a dish of cream in one hand and using the other to cover his eyes. "For your friend, Mrs. Peletier," he proclaimed, with surprisingly little accent to his English.

Carol smothered an unladylike giggle when Andrea rolled her pale eyes and pried the nervous hand away, causing most of the cream to spill, dripping down the length of their awkward guest's arm and collecting in a growing puddle on the floor.

"For God sakes, Glenn. She's not nude."

Glenn blinked one squinted eye open then the other, a friendly, unassuming smile battling the blush on his dimpled cheeks for dominance. Stammering out an apology, he bent to gather another log to place on the fire, and stumbled back in surprise mere seconds later when a pink, scratchy tongue lapped at his wrist. His rounded gaze darted to the purring dark ball of fluff winding its way in and around his legs.

"She likes you," Carol whispered in awe, easing from the bed and shuffling closer to kneel beside Glenn and stroke her hand across the cat's sleek back as she ravenously ate her dinner. "She usually prefers company of a…gentler persuasion." While she watched, the cat finished off the rest of the cream in the dish and butted her head against Glenn's forearm. Laughing softly, Carol scooped her up in her arms and cuddled her close as Andrea approached and hesitantly scratched underneath the animal's cream dotted chin. "She just gave you the Tara seal of approval. I'm afraid you have a friend for life."

The smile won out, and Glenn positively beamed at the news, vowing, as he left them, to have another dish of cream waiting specially for Tara in the morning before they left on the long road out of town.

The mention of the morning, not too many hours away, sobered Carol once again, and her change in mood didn't go unnoticed by Andrea, who offered her a bright, reassuring smile and wove their hands together tightly as she settled on the bed beside her.

"I don't think we officially met earlier." Her sea foam eyes danced, and the smile on her mouth twitched. "I'm Andrea. I'm sorry about the whiskey, by the way."

Unbidden, Carol felt her own lips curl at the hours old memory. "I'm Carol, and I'm still not completely sure I forgive you."

Andrea's laugh was throaty and full and she squeezed Carol's hand in hers. "That's really too bad."

Carol was certain, in that moment that she (much like Tara) had just found a friend for life. "And why is that?"

"Because tomorrow…we become sisters."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Thanks for the kudos and lovely comments.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a couple more familiar faces as Andrea and Carol prepare for their journey to the Greene farm and their new lives as Dixons.

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx7xx

 

The next morning dawned bright and brilliant with a blue sky that looked endless.

Noah's summer snow floated on an invisible breeze below the canopy of the towering cottonwood, and a secret, sad smile ghosted across Carol's mouth as she fingered the locket nestled in the hollow of her throat. She voiced the appropriate level of admiration when Jacqui broke from overseeing Noah and Theodore loading the wagon and veered in her direction. "It really is lovely."

Jacqui's voice was as light and sunny as her smile. "What I tell you, Honey?"

"Ain't nothin' compared to the real thing, though, Miz Carol. Come winter, you'll see."

"Theodore!" Jacqui swatted lightly at the man as he scooted past them en route to the boarding house with a friendly grin stretching from ear to ear. "Have some manners."

Carol laughed softly and ducked her head. "I won't be Mrs. Peletier for much longer. It's okay." She looked up when Jacqui enfolded her hands in her own and gave them a gentle, fond squeeze. "Really," she insisted. "Friends call me Carol."

Jacqui's eyes grew bright, but her smile never wavered as she released Carol's hands and lifted her chin to the sky. "It's a beautiful morning," she finally proclaimed. "That's good, Honey."

As far as signs went, Carol wasn't so sure she could put much faith in it. Beautiful days, after all, had paid her no special kindnesses before. Still, she hesitated to say as much in front of her newfound friend. "It is," she agreed softly.

"What has you two so enthralled this morning?"

Carol turned her head to watch Andrea approach. In the light of day, her pale eyes were even more captivating, and her golden hair shone prettily against the dark cape she wore over her blue dress. Carol resisted glancing down at her own drab attire but couldn't help the self-conscious hand that strayed to the messy curls she'd barely been able to tame after a restless night. Thankfully, Jacqui spoke up when it became apparent she'd lost the capability of intelligent speech.

"Just admiring the beautiful day God saw fit to gift you two with for your wedding day."

"That's a good sign."

Andrea sounded just as doubtful as Carol felt, and Carol fought doubly hard against her own misgivings with the revelation. "Jacqui thinks so."

"I don't think so, Honey. I know so." With a glance over her slender shoulder, she tucked her chin to her chest in a deep, respectful nod then fixed both women with an encouraging smile. "Looks like it's time."

Michonne stood silently before the wagon, her cape conspicuously absent and her arms crossed in front of her. Noah was already in the back, braced against Carol's trunk with his long legs pulled tight to his chest.

Jacqui held out her arms. "C'mere. You too," she said, including Andrea in the heartfelt embrace. "Just remember this. Them Dixons are lucky to have you both, you hear? Don't you ever think elsewise."

Carol bit her lip as tender fingers swept a curl behind her ear, and she clutched the hand Andrea offered in support as tears threatened. "Thank you."

"I told you," Jacqui tsked. "No thanks needed."

"For telling the truth," Carol finished with a watery smile. "Thank you anyway."

"Welcome," Jacqui told her. "Now hurry on with you. Michonne's waiting."

Michonne was waiting, none too patiently, and she didn't seem too pleased when Carol faltered in her steps just before reaching the wagon. Carol's attention rest elsewhere, though, and she shrugged off the woman's brusque manner when Glenn presented her bag to her, Tara contentedly purring inside.

Glenn's dimpled smile was shy.

"She's going to miss you," Carol murmured. "So am I."

"You're not going to have the chance to miss him long," Michonne interjected with a sigh. "He's going with us."

Glenn's smile widened into a grin, and he nodded when Carol's hopeful eyes searched his face.

"Old Man Greene's been hurting for help for some time now," Michonne explained. "With the harvest coming, Noah, and T are going to help his hired hand Nicholas with the crops. Glenn's making the trip home with you Dixons."

"We're not Dixons yet," Andrea remarked with a raised brow, climbing into the wagon unassisted before Noah could scramble to his feet and offer her his hand.

"No. You're not," Michonne acknowledged, the look in her eyes unreadable (to all but Andrea, it seemed), her expression fierce. Her tense posture only relaxed somewhat when Andrea pulled the hood of her cape high over her gleaming hair, and a hint of amusement flickered across those depthless eyes when she shifted her gaze to Carol.

Carol barely had time to wonder at the change before she felt herself being lifted at the waist and practically catapulted onto the bench beside Andrea in a somewhat undignified heap. She squealed slightly when Theodore unceremoniously let go of her, earning a shadow of a smile from their aloof host.

"I hope Miss Patricia made enough pie for everyone. Mmm. Mmm." The big man rubbed his belly exaggeratedly and chuckled when Jacqui grabbed his forearm and lifted on her toes to press a noisy kiss goodbye to his cheek. "Here you go, Miz Carol," he said, taking her bag from Glenn and placing it safely in her waiting arms. "You hold on tight."

Tara meowed pitifully in response to Theodore's warning, and Michonne cut her eyes to the back of the wagon as she mounted her own horse. "Put her in back with Noah. We still have to stop at the general store, and you won't be able to hold on with that bag in your hands."

"Road gets bumpy," Noah quietly joined the conversation. "Don't worry. She don't like me much as Glenn, but I'll take care of her."

True to his word, Noah watched over Tara as they bumped along the rough road that led deeper into town, and the cat had curled into a tight little sleeping ball of fur by the time Theodore pulled up on the reins and looked to Michonne for further instruction.

"Sit tight. This won't take long."

Within minutes of Michonne's departure, Andrea cast a sideways glance at the big man. "I won't be long either."

Theodore heaved a resigned sigh and massaged his furrowed brow as he regarded the small woman sitting beside him. "Suppose you looking to follow 'em." When Carol merely stared up at him with innocent blue eyes, he shook his head. "Go on. I'll keep watch. Glenn, help her down."

The store was darker inside than Carol expected. The shelf-lined walls were packed tight with goods, and the crates and barrels littered around the dim space forced a narrow wooden pathway that made Carol's nails bite into her palms and her voice to waver. "Michonne? Andrea?" She whirled around with a gasp, toppling a display of metal cookery to the ground when Michonne appeared behind her without warning.

"I thought I told you to sit tight." Michonne's cool disappointment was obvious. "I didn't expect Andrea to listen, but you?" She shook her head lightly. "Something tells me there's more to you than meets the eye, Carol Peletier."

Pride made Carol stand a little bit taller under Michonne's critical eye.

"I haven't made up my mind yet whether that's a good or a bad thing," Michonne muttered as she bent to retrieve a pan and place it back on its shelf. "What was so important you decided to follow Andrea's harebrained example?"

"I wanted to buy gifts for the children."

Michonne's dark eyes glowed up at Carol and her mouth softened. "You don't have to buy their love. The little ones? They'll love you just because."

Carol blinked back sudden tears. "Just because?" She dragged a fingertip through the thin layer of dust coating the shelf nearest her and inspected it as she avoided the woman's avid gaze. "You really think it's as simple as that?"

"They never had a mama to sing to them. Or kiss them goodnight. They'll love you just because," Michonne repeated with conviction. "Now, Lizzie. Mr. Greene will tell you. That little girl's a much tougher nut to crack."

"I know a girl named Lizzie."

A little boy, no more than seven, possibly eight peered up at them with impish blue eyes beneath a thick fringe of brown hair. His flushed cheeks were dotted generously with freckles, and his small fist held tight to a stick of black licorice.

Carol marveled at the transformation in Michonne's demeanor. She really was quite breathtaking with her toothy, ear to ear smile, and dancing dark eyes.

"You best not be hiding from your mama again, young Mr. Grimes."

"I'm not hiding. I'm exploring," the child boasted. His free hand reached out to tug at Carol's skirt. "I know a girl named Lizzie. Lizzie Dixon. She lives on a big farm with cows and chickens and a funny looking dog. And a pond. Mama wouldn't let me swim in it though."

"I'm sure your mama has her reasons," Michonne mused with a tiny smirk. "Speaking of your mama...where is she?"

"She's around," the boy shrugged, absently scratching his nose. "Hey! You the mail lady that's gonna marry her papa?"

Tears of a different sort gathered in the corners of Carol's eyes as she stifled the belly laugh that wanted to bubble free. "Yes. I guess I'm the mail lady. My name's Carol."

"I'm Carl."

Carol gingerly took the sticky little hand that Carl offered her. "Nice to meet you, Carl." She smiled over the boy's skinny shoulder at the pretty, thin, harried-looking brunette that scurried toward them, Andrea close on her heels. "Looks like your mama found you."

Carl sighed dramatically when his mother's hands closed over his shoulders. "She's always doing that."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd stay put. Somebody is stubborn and doesn't know how to listen," she told the trio of women gathered around her and her son.

"Yes," Michonne echoed the sentiment with a significant look aimed first at Andrea then at Carol. "Somebody is."

Unperturbed by the exchange, the brunette extended a graceful hand. "I'm Lori Grimes, and you must be Mrs. Peletier."

"No, she's not," Carl made his presence known again. "She's Carol the mail lady, and she's gonna marry Lizzie's papa. Not her uncle Merle. My papa put Lizzie's uncle Merle in jail once," he divulged somberly. "Mama says he likes his whiskey and his women a little too much."

"Okay, Carl. That's enough. Why don't you go settle things with Jim?" She nodded at the stick of licorice still clenched tightly in her son's hand. Once the boy had gone, albeit reluctantly, she was quick to apologize. "It's a small town. And when Axel gets a hold of the mail before anyone else in this town? He knew you'd accepted Daryl's offer of marriage before Daryl did. I'm surprised Merle's own letters escaped his notice."

Something flickered, then, across Andrea's face, but the moment was so small and so quick Carol reasoned she must have imagined it. She distractedly absolved Mrs. Grimes of her guilt, and before she knew it, they were outside again, her gifts for the children all safely bundled up and Andrea quiet and Michonne even more contemplative beside her as the men loaded the wagon down with supplies.

The sky was still cloudless, the road out of town seemingly endless and rough. The little buildings that marked the quaint, growing township were fewer and more spread out with each and every mile.

Carol closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face, wove her fingers through Andrea's fingers when she offered her hand. She could hear Noah quietly talking to Tara in the back of the wagon, feel the heavy air stir as the horses' tails flicked lazily against their haunches. She might have dozed a while, might have allowed herself to dream as Michonne carefully navigated a path with no markers, save the trees scattered near and far. She might have dreamed of her new life, but the dreaming and imagining didn't prepare her for the reality of the moment when she felt the wagon lurch to a stop, felt Andrea squeeze her hand, and felt Michonne's shoulder press into hers before her rich voice rumbled loose.

"Dixon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! I did, in fact, leave it there. *winces* Sorry. I know. Bad FF author. But it's longer. Does that help, lol? You have the nasty head/chest cold keeping me from any measurable sleep to thank for that. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, nonetheless. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at the Greene farm...

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx8xx

 

The screen door creaked behind him on its hinges, and Daryl rubbed a tired hand over his face, tugging absently at the scruff covering his chin as he looked out over the fields where a gauzy, low-lying mist seemed to hover and float just above the ground. The dark figures of Hershel's cattle dotted the landscape in one direction, the growing stalks of corn swayed gently in the other. A shy sun was just beginning to brighten the pink-purple sky when the door banged lightly shut, and Daryl issued a gruff greeting, not bothering to turn around. "Mornin."

A soft clearing of the throat was the only response for several minutes, and even that sound soon faded away in the sleepy haze of the early morning. The chickens clucked softly in their coop, and pots and pans clattered in the kitchen as Patricia puttered tirelessly over breakfast.

Daryl's stomach growled loud and insistent when the heavy scent of fatty, frying meat reached his nose from the open kitchen window, and the sound finally dispelled the lingering silence between them when the eldest Greene daughter laughed and crossed the porch to join him on the top step, hugging her arms around her knees.

"Maggie," Daryl acknowledged, lifting his thumb to his mouth. He weren't much for talkin', never had been; the Greenes, all of 'em, knew it better than most.

Maggie lifted her hands to tuck her chin length dark hair behind her ears and smiled, keeping her response just as short and to the point. "Daryl."

Daryl continued to gnaw at the corner of his thumb without comment until the girl nudged him with the toe of her boot. "What?"

Maggie gently directed his hand away from his mouth, her eyes bright even as she scolded him. "You know what Patricia would say."

"Well, Patricia ain't here, so…"

The pots and pans ceased their racket momentarily, and Patricia cheerily butted in. "I heard that, Daryl Dixon."

The corner of Daryl's mouth lifted in a slight, barely-there smile and color stained his cheeks pink as he lowered his eyes to his own boots and rubbed his fingers instead over the soft, threadbare material of his pants. "Woman's got eyes everywhere," he grumbled good-naturedly.

Maggie merely laughed in agreement, and silence reigned again, until she felt the need to dispel it, of course, with a comment that had Daryl groaning. "Looks like it's gonna be a nice day for a wedding."

"Mighty nice day for a wedding," Merle added his two cents as he approached them from the barn, where Nicholas was still struggling to coax a reluctant Otis away from his breakfast of grains and into his harness. "Mornin', Maggie. Your old man still got his nose buried in his Bible?"

"Merle," Daryl spoke warningly.

"Daddy's just trying to find something nice to say when he joins you in unholy matrimony later today, Merle."

Merle's grin was wolfish and wide. "Aww, Darlin'. There's still time. I'm a free man yet. You and me could…"

In concert, Daryl and Maggie cut in with disgust. "Shut up, Merle."

Merle's lips twitched with appreciation and his eyes gleamed as he folded his arms across his broad chest. "Just sayin'. What do you think, L'il Brother? I think the little lady doth protest too much." He chuckled as Maggie's pretty face screwed up with outrage.

"Merle Dixon, you…"

"Maggie. The eggs," Patricia pointedly reminded her from the kitchen.

Merle ducked her swatting hand as she stomped down the porch steps on her way to the chicken coop and dropped his own tired body on to the step beside his scowling brother. Growing more serious, he rest his forearms against his parted legs and cast a sideways glance at his brother. "Don't see Lizzie out here givin' you no more grief."

His thumb gravitating back toward his mouth, Daryl grunted in reply. The children were all still snug in their beds, including Beth, and he found himself more thankful for that than maybe he should be, but Lizzie weren't exactly happy with him for his decision to bring another woman into her life. Hell, she weren't exactly pleased with Merle neither. A part of him understood, though. That little girl had been the unofficial lady of the house goin' on five years, since she were no bigger than knee high, and she didn't take too kindly to some woman she'd never met changing all that. Daryl weren't too sure he did either, come to think of it. Lost in his own thoughts, he paid no heed of his brother's ramblin' on and on until he snatched his hand away from his mouth with his oversized paw. "The hell, Merle?"

"You even hear me, Boy?" Merle's eyes glittered knowingly at him, and he eased his hand back to its spot on his thigh. "I said it's 'bout time to get that damned muskrat off yer face. Old Bible-thumper's bound to have a razor here somewhere."

"Merle," Daryl protested as his brother disappeared inside. His only answer was the slam of the screen door, and he sighed, haulin' himself to his feet. He settled in the old rocking chair in front of the parlor window and closed his eyes in resignation, drifting into an uneasy peace of sorts. His eyes snapped open when the heavy fall of footsteps grew louder. "I tried to tell you…Oh." He straightened unconsciously when the old man himself offered him a crooked smile in greeting. "Thought you was Merle," he explained unnecessarily as he watched Hershel place a lathered shaving brush down on the porch railing. His throat worked anxiously when he spied the silver gleam of the straight razor in the low morning light. He tried to wave the old man off with one hand. "You don't have to…I don't even need…"

"You do, Son," Hershel told him wryly, his wizened eyes dancing beneath his bushy white brows. "This may be one of the only things that brother of yours and I agree upon." He chuckled softly and leaned back against the porch railing to give the skittish man in front of him time to relax. "Better me than Maggie," he remarked semi-teasingly as his eldest daughter clomped up the porch steps, her shirt untucked from her loose trousers and carefully cradling a dozen eggs or so. "That girl's as good as any farm hand I ever had, but the fact remains. She's a girl, and she hasn't mastered the art of shaving."

"The art of shavin'?" Daryl scoffed with a raised brow.

"The art of shaving," Hershel repeated, picking up the shaving brush and approaching the younger Dixon much like he approached good ole Nellie with her saddle, with a bit of patience and an abundance of caution. "It takes a steady hand. And a man that knows well enough to be still," he advised when Daryl started to fidget. "Easy, Son."

Through sheer force of will, Daryl fought back his nerves with slow, deep breaths and endured the careful scrape of the blade across his skin under the old man's hand. He was almost home free when the screen door banged open, and his brother's obnoxious drawl shattered Hershel's steadfast concentration. He swore lowly as he raised his hand to the tiny nick on his cheek and glared. "Dammit, Merle."

Merle blithely ignored his ire. "Miss Patricia's cooked us up a breakfast feast, L'il Brother. Mika's inside askin' for ya." When Daryl had left them to tend to his daughter, Merle turned shrewd eyes on their host. "It work? The boy calm down any?"

Hershel's eyes softened at Merle's obvious concern for his brother, and he wiped his hands on the soft cloth he'd brought with him from the kitchen. "You don't give your brother enough credit."

Merle huffed in response.

"He'll be fine," Hershel raised a hand to clap Merle's shoulder as he passed him by. A soft laugh fell from his lips before he turned back to face Merle once he'd reached the door. "These are indeed the end times."

What you goin' on 'bout, Old Man?"

"Both Dixon brothers getting married?" Hershel mused. "Next the dead will start walking the earth."

Breakfast passed too quickly for Daryl's likin'. Course, his lack of appetite might have had somethin' to do with that. Mika helped herself to one biscuit too many, and Sam shoveled fluffy eggs in his small mouth at an alarming rate. Beth blushed whenever his arm brushed against hers, and Maggie and Merle waged a war of words with each other, much to Hershel's dismay and Patricia's helpless amusement. Lizzie sat quietly between the pair, scrapin' her fork back and forth across her plate until Daryl just snapped and stood up from his chair, snatching up his daughter's hand as he stalked across the room and pulling her after him as he returned to the porch. It took only the slightest wobble of his little girl's chin and one tear slipping down her smooth cheek for Daryl to haul her into his tight embrace and nearly squeeze the life out of her. "You're still gonna be my best girl," he murmured into her soft hair. "Nothin's gonna change."

"Promise, Papa?" Lizzie sniffled.

Daryl was still mulling over that promise as the wagon bumped along the ruts and valleys in the rough road leading toward town. He'd meant it, he'd felt it, but promises weren't always somethin' you could keep. Like the promise he'd made Lizzie's mama. Forever, in Daryl's experience, never lasted long. He looked up when Merle took the reins from his hands.

"Got too much on your mind," Merle shrugged in explanation.

Daryl nodded in agreement and tucked his chin close to his chest, focused on Otis and Lilly plodding forward until he noticed the grin slowly overtaking his brother's face. "What?" he sighed when it became obvious Merle was just itchin' to say somethin'.

"Just….t'night's my weddin' night. Can't have you runnin' us into a tree."

"Look 'round, Merle," Daryl rolled his eyes. "See many trees out here?"

Merle laughed loudly and long until Otis tossed his head in annoyance and gnashed his teeth against the bit in his mouth. "Reckon you wish there was. Your weddin' night, too."

"Merle," Daryl warned at the needless reminder.

"S'okay, Darylina. Alright to be nervous at the thought of a woman sharin' your bed again. I know it's been a long time, but some things a man don't forget."

Daryl grit his teeth and stared straight ahead, even as his stupid brother cackled at his own joke.

"Bet she's a pretty l'il thing," Merle continued to wheedle him. "Course I ain't got nothin' to go on 'cept her letters." He slapped the reins lightly against the horses' haunches as they navigated a slight hill and cut his eyes over at his brother. "Ain't nothin' wrong in takin' comfort from a woman's soft arms, Baby Brother. Nothin' wrong at all. And if she's pretty…that's just gravy."

"Maggie's right," Daryl growled. "You're a pig."

Merle's grin returned with a vengeance. "Too bad I prefer blondes."

Daryl scoffed at his innuendo-laced lament and yanked the reins back out of his hands. He loved his brother; he'd saved his ass more times than he could count when the goin' got rough, and he was the best uncle he could ask for when it came to Lizzie, Mika, and Sam. His reputation with women around their small settlement and beyond was well earned, and it was a wonder any woman had entertained his offer of marriage. "I'm doin' this for Mika and Sam. For Lizzie," he ground out. "They deserve more 'n just me and you, Merle, but me? I don't need no wife. You even listenin' to me?" he scowled when he realized he'd lost his brother's attention as they crested the hill, and Otis lurched to a stop. "Merle."

"Too bad I prefer blondes," Merle repeated in a low growl when he spied the wagon and its passengers, his eyes twinkling wickedly as he took the reins from his little brother's lax fingers and gave him a firm nudge with his shoulder. "Ole Merle's always right," he smirked. "Just 'member that, L'il Brother."

"The hell you…" Daryl trailed off as Lilly nickered and a familiar voice interrupted anything else he might have said. He paid the voice and his brother little mind, though, his gaze riveted to a riot of red curls and blue eyes that put the sky to shame as he came to a grudging realization. Maybe Merle weren't always wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I cheated again, lol. Hope you don't mind too terribly much because the Dixon brothers demanded their say in the lead up to the big first meeting. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos, and for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T and Daryl have a bit of a heart to heart. Mika makes a new friend. Daryl and Carol spend their first night in each other's company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait. I've had the worst block on this story, but things are looking up now. 
> 
> Some mild language in this chapter.

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx9xx

 

Otis sighed and lowered his head as Daryl methodically worked the stiff bristled comb over the sway of his broad back, his nostrils flaring and his whiskers twitching as he sought out the long emptied bucket of grain in the corner of his allotted stall. His heavy hooves pawed at the soft dirt floor in annoyance, and his tail flicked back and forth with his growing agitation. His ears flattened back then pricked forward just as quickly, the tense muscles in his thick neck loosening almost immediately.

The horse's quirks long familiar to him, Daryl spared a brief, unconcerned glance upward to acknowledge T's presence then returned to his self-assigned job of grooming the animal.

"Can't say I blame him for trying." T's grin flashed white and bright in the shadowed barn, and he rolled his broad shoulders as he stepped into the lantern's weak yellow light. "I feel his pain." Holding out a tentative hand to the cantankerous old beast, he patted his full belly with his other hand, sighing then in remembered bliss. A furtive glance over his shoulder, and he regarded Daryl with newly narrowed, serious eyes. "Word of this gets back to Jacqui, I'll know where it come from."

Daryl paused in his work and straightened with a tiny, one-sided smirk, bracing his forearm against the old gelding's flank and waiting to see where T was going with his unheralded confession.

"Another piece of Miss Patricia's apple pie sounds like heaven on earth right now. And that fried chicken? Mmm, mmm, mmm. No, Siree. Can't say I blame ole Otis at all."

Otis's whiskers tickled over T's offered palm as he finished his careful, thorough inspection, and his lips quivered. Finding it just as empty of treats as the bucket, he snorted in disgruntlement and tossed his head back.

With a shake of his head, Daryl grunted noncommittally and rolled his eyes, resuming his rhythmic strokes across the horse's shiny coat and lulling the large animal back into a relaxed state. He was unprepared but not surprised when Otis groaned minutes later and lazily shifted his considerable weight into his hands. Swearing softly beneath his breath, he gave the horse's wide rump a forceful but ultimately useless push and lifted his glittering gaze to T's amused face. "A little help?"

T chuckled and gave a sly wink. "Hold your horse." Firmly tugging Otis's fraying halter when it became crystal clear Daryl didn't share his mirth at the thin joke, he afforded him just enough of a window to escape and followed soon after, handing the bucket off and securing the rickety stall latch behind them both. "C'mon. Wasn't my best, but you know that was funny. What's up with you anyway, Dixon? You awful sore for a newlywed."

Daryl steadfastly avoided the other man's eyes, neatly stowing away his grooming tools and grabbing a pitchfork from an adjacent wall. His strides were long and determined as he stalked to a towering stack of loose straw nearby and attacked it with the pointed tines.

Exhaling, T moved to assist him in once again making sure the rest of the livestock were comfortably bedded down for the night. He bit back any complaints he had about tackling a chore already postponed with Hershel's blessing and let his hands do the menial work while his mind wandered. Several minutes later, when the task was completed to Dixon's satisfaction, both men's breath fogged in the chill of the night and their skin glistened. The earthy scent of sweat and horses clung to their clothes, and T slid down to an exhausted heap on the dusty barn floor, joining Daryl. His head thudded lightly against the aged wooden door of Lilly's occupied stall, and his nose wrinkled in disgust as he gave his thoughts free reign of his mouth. "Can't believe you gonna climb in your marriage bed smelling like the ass end of a horse. Damn. Miz Carol deserves better."

Daryl remained quiet, picking absently at his thumb nail and shuffling his booted feet through the straw scattered messily before them. A tiny huff stirred his lips in seeming agreement, and he loosened the top two buttons closest to the perspiration dampened collar of his shirt.

Understanding dawned on T then, and he fixed his evening companion with a long, knowing look. "That why your lily-white behind's out here? I'm disappointed in you, Dixon. Too much like your fool brother."

Daryl looked appropriately chagrined, and for a while nothing else was said.

Lilly nickered overhead, her soft, throaty noises a comfort. Noah's snores followed on the heels of Nicholas's own sleepy exhalations in the back of the barn. Somewhere, in the eaves of the old wooden building, a barn owl screeched.

The piercing cry made the hair at the base of Daryl's neck stand on end, and his thoughts scattered far and wide, like the cotton plucked from its mother tree and swept to the far corners of his adopted home along a fierce, unforgiving gale. He removed the hat from his head with a soft growl and shielded his grim face from T's probing stare. Thankfully, the man didn't press the issue of Daryl's lifetime lack of any self- worth. That didn't mean he welcomed the topic chosen instead. Daryl felt his insides twist back into distressing knots as T began to speak, careful to keep his voice low. He could tell it was a struggle for the man to deliver the words he didn't believe in, but he wanted to make a point, and the effect was almost too much for them both.

"Ain't nobody else dumb enough to do a fool thing like hide another man's property in plain sight."

"Ain't like that," Daryl bristled and his eyes drifted toward the back of the barn meaningfully. T's statement hit a little too close to a truth only a select few people had been trusted with for his liking, and he didn't want the wrong ears to overhear. Working a clean piece of straw between his teeth before responding further, he allowed his own memories of his fragile mama and his no good daddy to color his thoughts and ensuing words. "Supposin' it was, woman ain't nobody's property but her own. Words don't make her Merle's and they sure as hell don't make her his. Her choice who she belongs to." Daryl believed his words now just as much as he had in days gone by, and his conviction rang strong and clear, though he couldn't completely push his worry for his brother aside.

T agreed with a silent nod. When he felt the curious prickle on Lilly's whiskers against his temple, he ducked his head and scowled, giving the friendly mare's muzzle a gentle shove. "That's it." He grunted tiredly as he climbed to his feet, offering Daryl his hand; Daryl, in turn, offered him the low-burning lantern. "I'm calling it a night. You best do the same. Miz Carol's good people. If I hear you ain't been treating her right, let's just say Jacqui won't be the only one you have to deal with. You still owe her a proper kiss. One on that pretty mouth of hers this time."

T's warning and swift won loyalty to his new bride resonated as Daryl made his way across the Greene's yard with nothing but the moon and memory to guide his way, the katydids' song a poor distraction. The creak of the rocking chair as he mounted the porch steps alerted him to her presence even before her soft, sheepish voice did.

"I couldn't sleep."

Daryl could barely puzzle out her slim outline in the silver swath of light that snaked around the shadows.

Blue eyes like sapphires sought him out in the darkness, and her thin arms wound themselves tighter around knees already drawn close to her chest. "I'm guessing neither could you."

Her abundance of red curls was an inky stain splashed against the paleness of her gown, and Daryl was hit with the hours' old memory of those same curls on fire beneath a sun just beginning to set. The ceremony Hershel performed joining them and Merle and Andrea in matrimony had been short, sweet, and mercifully simple; with his heart beating clear out of his throat and his lungs struggling to pull in air while everybody he loved looked on, Daryl was certain he couldn't have handled anything more. Lord, but she'd been pretty, even in that ugly dress of hers. He caught just a glimpse of her milky white toes curled around the chair's edge, and he shook his head, deflecting her worries with a gruff rebuke as he slid his hat from his head and tucked it against his chest. "Shouldn't be out here, waitin' on me." She didn't say anything more, and some long-buried instinct led him to gently add, "Just don't want you catchin' your death of cold is all."

It was warmer inside, but not by much.

Daryl looked down at the small, shaking hand held out in offering when they crossed the threshold. His eyes were quickly drawn back to her sparkling gaze.

"Aren't you coming?"

"You go ahead," he told her. "Got a few things to check on first." He waited until she disappeared down the hall, the door to Patricia's candlelit bedroom making a soft snick as it closed behind her, the older woman having chosen to share Maggie's room for the night.

The steep stairs presented more of a challenge in the darkness, the squeakiest steps harder to navigate around. Maggie's room at the end of the hall was closed up tight. Hershel's door was cracked open, and Sam was clearly not losing any sleep, comfortably sprawled across the farmer's protruding stomach.

Only two blond heads peeked out from beneath the pile of quilts atop Beth's bed, though, and the young girl whined in protest when Daryl gently shook her shoulder, turning her face further into her pillow. "Beth."

"Just five more minutes, Daddy," Beth half mumbled, half groaned. "We don't have to have eggs for breakfast every day."

"Beth, wake up," Daryl persisted, keeping his voice whisper soft to avoid waking Lizzie but retaining a hint of worried urgency.

Beth's blue eyes squinted blearily at him as she raised up on one elbow. "Daryl?"

"When's the last time you seen Mika?"

Beth frowned. "Not long after Merle left, I think. We said our prayers and fell asleep. She wanted to say goodnight to Tara, but Patricia didn't want nobody disturbing you."

Merle had barely stuck around long enough after the joint wedding to fill his belly, volunteering to brave the journey home and race the rapidly setting sun to tend to their own neglected livestock. He'd taken Andrea, Michonne, and the new hired hand along, gleefully wishing Daryl and his blushing new bride a happy and eventful wedding night.

Though Daryl could have wrapped his hands around his brother's neck and gladly squeezed in that moment of extreme embarrassment, he still tried to talk him out of leaving, arguing that one more day away from home wouldn't hurt anybody. His pleas, unsurprisingly, had fallen on deaf ears, and he'd retreated to the barn shortly afterward in search of welcome distraction. That had easily been a couple of hours ago.

Rubbing sleepily at her eyes, she sat up fully, clumsily pushing her covers aside. Her frown deepened when Daryl gently nudged her back to her pillow and tucked the quilts back around her skinny shoulders like a child. "I can help you look."

"Don't gotta."

"But…" Beth protested feebly as he turned for the open door, already half asleep again.

"Go back to sleep, Beth." Daryl's voice was muffled by the barrier of the door as he closed it behind him. "Got a pretty good idea where to look."

A warm golden glow lit the kitchen, and cinnamon still clung heavily to the air. Clean dishes were stacked on the counter, and the wildflower bouquet Mika and Sam had painstakingly gathered and tied with a piece of twine provided a rainbow splash of color in a glass upon the table. Beneath that table, curled into a protective ball around a still mound of black fur between two chairs, lay his sleeping daughter, her messy blond braid fluttering against her parted mouth with every breath she took.

Daryl ran a hand through his messy hair as he contemplated his best course of action.

Tara had been a surprise, even more so than Carol herself. His new bride had softly but stubbornly resisted being parted from the hissing ball of black fur she'd brought with her all the way from Georgia.

Daryl's own suggestion that the cat sleep in the barn with the horses and the mice had fallen on willfully deaf ears, and he had no doubt the lantern was courtesy of Patricia, the kindly older woman just as besotted with the feline as the rest of the women living beneath Hershel's roof. Mika and Sam already loved the ball of prickly sass, and there'd been a tiny but unmistakable thaw in Lizzie's glacial gaze upon first laying eyes on the animal. Daryl, however, held no such affection, and it was more than obvious, the feeling was mutual. Grumbling beneath his breath, he lowered himself to his hands and knees and eyed the cat with distrust as he carefully wrapped his calloused hand around his youngest daughter's ankle. "The hell, Baby Girl?"

"Papa?" Mika sleepily murmured, her bright eyes shining with unabashed love and trust before they drifted shut again, and she wound her tiny arms tighter around Tara, snuggling the cat close like her favorite doll.

Daryl rocked back on his heels with a suppressed groan. Plowing his hands through his hair one more time, he sighed and steeled himself for impending disaster.

The extraction was an unexpected success, and one last midnight journey up Hershel's steep stairs proved too daunting to attempt.

Daryl worked a hand free to grasp Patricia's doorknob, his breath escaping in tired pants against Mika's sleep-warmed forehead. The creak the door made as it swung open sounded much too loud to his ears, and it startled the cat crushed against his chest and the woman that had obviously fallen asleep waiting for his promised return.

Tara hissed and squirmed free to jump to the bed below, her back arching in a graceful bow and her eyes glowing in the near darkness. She slinked to the foot of the bed and watched Daryl with undisguised suspicion.

"M'Sorry," Daryl muttered, adjusting Mika against his chest as he shouldered the door shut and approached the large, blanket-strewn bed. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Carol murmured softly, throwing her blankets back and scooting over to make room on the bed for the little girl.

Daryl blushed and averted his eyes when the action afforded him a teasing glimpse of her pale skin, the long skirt of her high necked gown riding up slightly on her shapely legs. He studied the nub of a candle still flickering bedside and cleared his throat, waiting patiently for the blankets to be replaced. He looked up sharply when a mewl of dismay reached his ears.

"Her little feet are like ice."

"Room ain't much better," he softly growled in response. "Why didn't you say somethin'?"

The logs in the small fireplace had all but burned down, nothing but ashes remaining, and the chill in the little back room was much more pronounced than any other part of the house.

Daryl set to work building the fire back up, and before long, his skin grew damp anew. Rising from the squat he'd been in, he fingered the buttons on his shirt, grunting as he finally slid the offending garment from his broad shoulders and resting it across the small wooden chair in the corner. The deep bowl resting on Patricia's vanity earned his brief consideration, the cloth beside it, too, but the water had long since cooled. Toeing off his boots, Daryl released the button on his pants and shucked them quickly before he could change his mind, only his undergarments remaining. He placed them on the chair atop his shirt and his purposeful movements froze as he endured her silent judgment and gathered his floundering courage. The still cool air on his bared skin and his reawakened insecurities had him swallowing hard and shivering as he turned around. "Ain't much to look at."

Mika and his new bride were wrapped around each other with the easy familiarity of mother and daughter, their beautiful faces relaxed in sleep in the orange flicker of firelight.

The sight made Daryl's throat tighten, and his heart throbbed painfully at the pretty picture they made as he crawled into bed beside them and snuffed out the faint glow of the melted candle.

The cat curled up at his feet and dared him to dislodge her, her large dark eyes glowing at him in the near darkness.

Daryl poked her with his toe anyway and pulled his pillow over his head.

Damn Merle and his meddling ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did a thing. I skipped the wedding and went straight to the aftermath. 
> 
> I hope you aren't too disappointed. Other than my continuing struggles with this chapter, I have my reasons, and I hope you consider them worth it later, lol. 
> 
> Fingers crossed my block for this story is, indeed, gone for good. 
> 
> Mistakes are all mine. 
> 
> Feedback is adored. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the lovely comments, kudos, and bookmarks! Actually, thanks for reading at all. ; )


	10. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after their wedding night, and Daryl prepares to head home.

The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart

 

xx10xx

 

The piglets were small, with wide, shiny snouts that snuffled at Daryl's trailing boot laces as they followed him around the straw-lined pen. No doubt they were looking for their breakfast—the old man said Maggie fed them about this time every morning, but Daryl didn't have the parts nor the goods to satisfy their hunger, and that led him to ask, yet again, "You sure 'bout this?"

Hershel nodded. "I'm sure. We lost their mother weeks ago, lost part of the litter soon after that. Maggie's done an admirable job raising the rest of them to this point, but with the harvest, and all her other responsibilities around the farm..." he trailed off, removing the straw hat from his head and hanging it on the nearest fence post. "They need more time and care than she has to give to them. I'm sure you understand."

Daryl understood. Perhaps a little too well. His squinted blue gaze landed on the top of Lizzie's head where it peeked between two of the lower fence rails and the white smudge of her little fingers, and his lips quirked into something faintly resembling a smile. His eyes met the old farmer's briefly before he addressed the poorly hidden child. "C'mon out, Lizzie."

Two miniature leather boots climbed the fence rails, and before long a disheveled cloud of wheat-colored hair appeared. Lizzie hid much of her face behind her folded arms, allowing her father only a glimpse of her curious, watchful eyes. A little furrow pinched her brows together as he approached her perch with slow, measured steps.

"Thought I told you to help T load the wagon."

"T said he don't need no help," Lizzie mumbled into the fold of her sleeve. "He said he and Noah was doing just fine."

She traced the whorls in the weathered wood that supported her skinny frame with a single dirty nail, over and over, over and over, refusing to meet his stare directly, and Daryl stopped just short of the fence and crossed his arms across his chest, waiting. When she finally did look up, he sighed.

Hershel took that as his cue to leave, slipping his hat back on his head and clapping a firm hand over Daryl's shoulder as he passed by. "Choice is yours, Son."

The gate groaned shut behind him, and Daryl ran both hands through the mess of his hair before placing them on the wooden beams on either side of the little girl. His voice was gruff but soft when he spoke. "You never talked to T, did ya?"

Lizzie hesitated only a moment before shaking her head.

Like Merle, Daryl weren't much for religion. He'd always believed in more practical things, things he could touch with his own hands, see with his own eyes. He'd never took too kindly to the notion that his life would be governed by an invisible, all-knowing Almighty. Didn't mean he had the inclination to force his own views on nobody else, and when Lizzie brought her mama's Bible to him, that first Spring after they put her in the ground, Daryl had opened it up and started reading. It'd brought the child comfort, those familiar stories that were so foreign on his tongue, and he weren't ashamed to admit he'd used some of what he learned inside of it to help with her and the twins' raising. Merle had helped with everything else, and it'd been enough, they'd been enough. Until they weren't. He captured that one restless finger, dwarfed her small hand with his own, and looked intently in her eyes. "You know what the Bible says 'bout lyin'."

Lizzie's lips tugged downward, and she murmured a shameful acknowledgment. "Yes, Papa. You mad?"

"I look like I'm mad?" Daryl bent to touch his forehead to hers, and the frown on Lizzie's mouth twitched into something else altogether, something light and relieved, and the breath she'd been holding left her in one big exhalation. Her long lashes tickled his skin, and he let a rare smile reign free, pulling back to kiss the top of her head. "Go along with ya now. Still got a lot to do 'fore we head home."

Lizzie hopped down, scampering across the green expanse of Hershel's yard and disappearing inside the farmhouse.

Daryl turned when he heard a throat clear, and Noah gave him a deferential nod.

"Mr. Greene said you needed help with them pigs."

Four squealing piglets were loaded in a straw filled crate in the back of the wagon along with nearly half of the supplies Michonne had delivered from the general store, and Otis and Lilly were harnessed and ready when Daryl made his way back to the farmhouse to collect his family.

Mika was sitting one step below Beth, the youngest Greene finishing up plaiting the thick honey strands of the little girl's hair into a neat braid and tying it with Carol's gifted ribbon.

A few feet away, Sam's short legs dangled from the edge of the rocking chair, his face sticky with the evidence of his broken promises, a gnawed nub of licorice clutched behind his back.

Maggie emerged from the house, Lizzie clinging to her waist, and smiled at him. In one hand, she held the gift Lizzie had yet to unwrap. The other cupped the back of the child's head, and she ruffled the girl's hair affectionately before gently prying her fingers from her belt and giving her a nudge in Daryl's direction. "You don't want to forget this."

Daryl took the small package from her hands, absently fingered the thin length of twine bound around it. He beckoned the twins, instructed them it was time to say their goodbyes, and turned to descend the steps before the screen door creaked open behind him.

Hershel gave Lilly one last fond pat between the ears and lowered his hand, his faded eyes dancing with knowing amusement. "Forgetting something, Son?"

T outright smirked, and Nicholas and Noah had the good grace to pretend not to have noticed.

Crimson colored Daryl's cheeks when he turned back around, and he had only the impression of scuffed boots, a dark, billowing skirt, and Patricia standing nearby as he mumbled a quiet apology. "M'sorry."

"It's okay."

Daryl shook his head and blindly held out his arm for his new bride to take. His heart started hammering behind his ribs when a delicate hand gripped his sleeve, and he felt her touch like the heat of the sun through the woven fabric as he helped her down the stairs. Softly, he told her, "S'not okay. I'm still new at this. What I mean is...been a long time. I'm not so good at bein' what other people expect." He caught the barest glimpse of a brave smile from the corner of his eyes, and the rapid beat of his pulse gradually started to slow. Still, he was grateful for the distraction offered when they reached the wagon, and Hershel nodded to Nicholas.

"One more thing before you go."

"Can't take no more from ya," Daryl protested as Lizzie clambered into the wagon. "You done enough already."

Hershel merely smiled, calm and kind, and placed a fatherly hand on Daryl's broad shoulder. "Consider it a wedding gift."

When the hired man returned from the barn, a sleek, healthy calf trailed behind him on a knotted rope.

Again, Daryl tried to object, but the old farmer wouldn't hear of it.

"This little fella's already been weaned, and I know he'll make a fine addition to your farm. Right, children?"

All three voiced their excited agreement, and Daryl's complaints softened as he allowed Hershel to pull him into the briefest of embraces. "Ya know this is too much."

"What I know," Hershel said, low enough that only Daryl and Carol could hear, "is you and those children and your pretty little bride, even Merle and his bride, are friends to this family, and Dale would be proud to see how far you've both come." He let Daryl go then and cupped a work-hewn hand over Carol's flushed cheek. "Take care of this one and the little ones for me, will you?"

"Yes, Sir. I will."

Patricia stepped forward to hug them both, Noah appearing to take the bag from her hands and safely stowing it in Lizzie's lap with a minimum of fretful mewling from the feline inside. T scooped a twin up in each arm and deposited them beside their sister, and Nicholas looped the calf's rope to the back of the wagon, and it was time.

Everything and everyone else faded into the background when Daryl finally allowed himself to look into those shiny blue sky eyes. "Ya ready? Long road ahead of us." His big hands settled awkwardly on her slim hips, and his eyes held more questions than his lips would willingly spill. He only hoped she could read them true. Her small hands lifted to fit over his shoulders and her sweet mouth curved into a shaky smile, and he released a deep breath, smiled back at her. "Alright. You hold on, okay?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's only been 7+ months since I updated this fic. 
> 
> Sorry. 
> 
> I hope you guys remember it, lol. It's still the slowest of slow burns if that helps. ;)
> 
> Not much happens in this chapter, but I hope you don't mind. This isn't exactly the most plot-driven story, at least not at the moment. That'll come later-provided I don't fall back down in the deep dark hole of writer's block again. For now, it's still a lot of character-driven stuff. It will probably retain a healthy amount of that, to be honest, so check out now if that's not your thing. Anyway...I'll stop my boring rambling now, and just say thank you to the faithful readers of this story. Your lovely words are what inspired me to keep pecking away at this until I finally managed to produce a new chapter. I'm not completely happy with it, but I never am, haha. 
> 
> Always remember...feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> P.S. Forgive any glaring typos. I went over this several times, but it's late (or early, depending on how you look at it), and I'm throwing in the towel. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look. It's only been a year, lol, but look what I decided to dust off and post?
> 
> Now this chapter isn't the best, it never was, but I decided to go ahead and post it anyway because it's been about 80% finished for 9 months out of that year and I realized I'm never going to love it, so.
> 
> Nevertheless, here you go. Hope you enjoy it.

 

 

_..._

_..._

_..._

* * *

**The Wonder That's Keeping the Stars Apart**

* * *

**xx11xx**

* * *

...

...

...

The sun was high, the blue sky clear and unfettered by clouds as the wagon lurched forward, the horses lazing along on the sunbaked ruts and swells of the path home.

.

It was a glorious start to Daryl's new life, and a hot one at that. Already sweat coated his collar, slithered in beads down his back to pool at the waistband of his breeches. The reins threatened to slip through his fingers during Otis's occasional fits of orneriness. But the children were happy, laughing. Even Lizzie at the moment, thanks to the rambunctious quartet of piglets squealing in the back of the wagon and the calf trotting along in its dusty wake.

.

"I know!" Mika wiggled in her seat to look up at him with wide eyes, her small fingers clenched in her skirt. "Rose."

.

"Don't be stupid," Lizzie scoffed. "Pigs can't be named after flowers."

.

"Why not?" Sam wondered with a frown, his small, sticky hand seeking out his sister's in consolation when her face fell.

.

"Because," Lizzie answered simply and stubbornly. "They stink."

.

"So?" Sam shrugged.

.

Gathering up her own courage, Mika echoed her brother. "So?"

.

"Papa," Lizzie huffed, identical spots of irritation coloring her cheeks as she crossed her skinny arms across her chest. "Tell them."

.

Catching his new bride's gaze over the children's heads, Daryl shook his head and admonished his eldest, "Don't you be callin' nobody stupid, Lizzie Dixon. Least of all your sister. She's your blood and it ain't good manners anyway. 'Sides," he muttered, his eyes shying away and back to the unmarked road ahead of them, "ain't entirely true. You forgettin' 'bout Lilly? She don't always smell so good herself." As if to prove his point, the mare chose that moment to relieve herself in true stomach-turning fashion, and he grimaced even while the twins giggled and Lizzie reluctantly smiled.

.

Sam's offerings likewise had a theme, all centered on the little boy's considerable sweet tooth, and the debate continued on with much laughter and groaning amongst the wagon's occupants until the horses crested one last gentle hill and the twin chimneys of the farmhouse loomed in the distance, the barn a dark shadow further afoot amid a cluster of towering cottonwoods that predated the homestead.

.

It wasn't anything fancy; certainly not as grand and well-kept as the Greene farm. The whitewashed walls needed a fresh coat of paint and some of the roof's shingles needed replaced. The pretty bunches of flowers Ms. Irma had planted around the covered porch so long ago when she was young and full of fruitless dreams of filling its halls with children of her own had been all but strangled by weeds and the front door hung a little crookedly on its creaky hinges.

.

But it was home, had been even before the old man left it to him and his brother on his death bed, and self-conscious as he was, Daryl refused to make any apologies. He let Otis and Lilly have free reign, and the horses seemed to catch a second wind, excitement making their nostrils flare wide and their tails twitch and slap against their hindquarters. Reaching out a hand to ruffle Mika's soft hair, he looked first to Lizzie then over at the woman sworn to share the rest of her life with him. "Gonna stop by the house first. Save you the walk from the barn."

.

Predictably, Lizzie protested. "But Papa."

.

"But Papa nothin'," Daryl delivered firmly. "Want you to help get Tara and…" He paused, a knot of uncertainty lodging in his throat. He didn't know what to call his new wife and still be sensitive to Lizzie's feelings on the matter, of which the child had plenty. Sam and Mika were easy. They'd accepted her as their new mother from the very first letter, but Lizzie was different. She was stubborn and still remembered the mama of her birth, and Daryl knew it was going to be an uphill battle, winning her over, and he recognized that his bride did, too. "Want you to help get everybody settled," he finally continued. "You do that and you got my permission to come help. Hear me?"

.

"Yes, Sir," Lizzie dutifully answered.

.

The new hired hand was waiting when Daryl pulled the horses up short.

.

Glenn received each of the twins then the bag housing a mewling Tara with a wide, dimpled smile. "Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. Children." His expression faltered when Lizzie hopped down from the wagon without any assistance, brushing past him with little if any acknowledgement, and he turned on his heel, scurrying after her with Mika and Sam in close pursuit. "I would not…Miss Lizzie, please do not…Mr. Merle and Ms. Andrea…oh no."

.

That left Daryl alone with his pretty bride and he slid his hat from head, combing anxious fingers through the limp hanks of hair that fell across his brow. "Reckon you might want to wait 'fore you go joinin' them."

.

"Reckon so," she voiced her soft agreement, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly and her freckled cheeks pinkening beneath the heat of the sun. Loose, curly tendrils of her red hair kissed the damp nape of her neck, and her hands were clasped in her lap when she murmured a quiet suggestion. "Maybe you could show me the barn?"

.

"The barn?" Daryl repeated dumbly. When her smile merely widened in response, he ducked his head to hide his own blush. "Right. The barn." He gave Otis's reins a tug, and the old gelding groaned and lurched forward. "Introduce you to Olivia. Might even run across Eugene. Know that mutt's 'round here somewhere."

...

...

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love so send me some. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it wasn't too bad for my first time diving head first into writing for this fandom.


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